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By Anoothi Vishal

Staring down the steep and narrow corridor leading out of the Great Pyramid in Giza, I am suddenly overwhelmed. The five minutes spent inside the King's Chamber in the centre of the pyramid have been well worth it.

At the behest of a group of European tourists, I have chanted "Om" — no, not as religious litany, but to supposedly activate cosmic vibrations, and have listened to an esoteric theory of how the dimensions of the pyramid are actually a code for a prophetic calendar (that predicted the world wars, amongst other things).

It's turned out to be as satisfying a mysticaltouristy experience as you may expect from enthusiastic readings of the early Orientalists and Egyptologists. So much so that when I finally stumble out into daylight, breathless and dazed (post a bout of vertigo to boot), I am secretly pleased: after all, no less than Napolean had emerged ashen-faced after being left alone inside the Pyramid, post his conquest of Egypt.

Besides, what is a visit to one of the wonders of the world — especially as mysterious and grand as this — if it does not leave you shaken, stirred and faintly scared? But frankly, this is about the only time I actually feel nervous in Egypt.

Neither the thought of political instability, nor the news of detained journalists, the tanks guarding Tahrir Square, or the gunman who accompanies us on our passage through Cairo, Alexandria, Luxor and more manage to quell my spirits as I roam through this country so exotic yet so familiar.

A Country at Crossroads

Egypt is so much like India in so many ways. You don't need to bargain hard in the souks — for everything from cotton wear and papyrus to beer and chips — to feel truly at home.

For one, Egyptians are as used to living with history as we are in India and can be just as oblivious to it. It's a burden and gift that they wear lightly — even though the well-oiled tourism machinery comes into play soliciting hard-to-come-by pounds everywhere you venture.

For the ordinary Egyptian there is nothing strange about the magnificent pyramids rubbing shoulders, quite literally, with impoverished, unpainted high-rises, both within the same area that will house the most modern of museums being built with Japanese funding and cooperation.

When it is complete, the new museum will house all the spell-binding treasures of antiquity that still lie in Cairo's Egyptian Museum — Tutakhamen's treasures and more. But for now, the ordinary Egyptian is busy contending with the contrary forces of modernity and tradition. And in the midst of it all, there are all those social complexities that polarize the society between a Westernised elite and a deeply traditional middle class.

My guide Asma, 30-something, can hardly stop raving about Amitabh Bachchan. And when the Bollywood musical plays out its last act, full of song, dance and colour — part of the India By The Nile festival that we attend courtesy the Indian embassy's bid at cultural diplomacy here — she is the most enthusiastic clapper, along with all the other locals.

"Most girls my age, when we were growing up on his movies, wanted to marry him [Bachchan]," she grins. Asma also secretly aspires to wear a saree — despite her strict Islamic (self-imposed) dress code "but in private, or my father will rise from his grave", she says in jest. When we decide to go out for sheesha post-dinner, she is horrified. "No, women from decent families don't sit in cafes" smoking the water pipe.

"But it is ok, you people are foreigners," she claims and chats to us about marriages and divorces, her plans to study, work and more because even though we are "foreigners", we are Indian — and "very close to Egyptian culture".

Cuisine Connect

Despite Asma's strong injunctions, and despite the minor scandal that we cause, we manage to sneak out every night to Cairo's trendy cafe, bars and club stretch. Zamalek on the west bank of the Nile is the city's splurgy and fashionable district.

The elite — and western tourists — come here to enjoy shopping and sushi, sheesha and mint tea, quirky music and conversation. We quickly form our own favourite: a charming cafe, lined with old, fraying books and Hollywood memorabilia.

It is here we return every night, staying up till the wee hours, witnessing sporadic street brawls ("Don't worry, you are safe," the manager tells us the first time we get alarmed) and much enthusiastic attention that three unaccompanied Indian women in the city invariably find. Being Indian helps. "Don't I look Indian?" is the routine question we are asked. "You look Egyptian" is the routine compliment we get. Indeed in our mixed up gene pools, we must share some common ancestors.

The cultural synergy between Egypt and India gets only more evident when you delve into the two cuisines: both are the result of a disparate mishmash of influences — trade, political, sociological.

Was falafel the predecessor of the vada and dal-pakoras of the subcontinent? Or vice-versa? Food historians often claim that the Middle-Eastern breakfast snack is originally an Egyptian dish that originated during the Coptic period when the Egyptian civilization shifted from pagan worship to Christianity (3-7 AD). It was possibly eaten during Lent as a meatless dish. And it is from here — from the strategic port of Alexandria — that it travelled to the rest of the Mediterranean and the Arab world.

In Egypt, falafel is still made of flattened and dried fava beans — the batter seasoned simply with garlic and loads of parsley, dusted with sesame seeds and deep fried. In other countries, chickpeas have replaced the creaminess of the beans. In India, of course, we have our own staples.

Mung beans — and Bengal gram (chana dal, made from split chickpeas) — that go into all kinds of fried savouries, so similar to the falafel. With both the Arab and Mughal influence so strong on Subcontinental cuisines, it is not improbable that culinary osmosis occurred.

What I do not expect to find, however — and do — is ghee. In Luxor, post a tiring day at those painstaking tombs and temples carved out in sheer stone in the Valley of Kings, I venture into the bazaar, to the Egyptian version of a dhaba, selling everything from shawarma to kushari (a mix of rice and pasta in tomato sauce) to crepes (the French influence is quite pervasive, given this was a French colony too). Aker, who is rolling out dough, has a can of ghee at his work table.

I later find out that samna baladi ("Egyptian ghee") — totally similar to the Indian version in method of making and taste — is a fairly common ingredient. Most pie shells use this as shortening, making the meat-stuffed pies quite heavy.

Food Chain

One can conjecture that the pie in Egyptian food — like all pies anywhere — must have come via the Greek connection. Ancient Greek and Roman cuisines relied on baking. The thick dough that encased the filling was called "coffin" and used essentially as a vessel for the meats. But in Egypt, today, of course, the shells are much more delicate — including for the sambusak, precursor to the samosa.

Do any of the pharaonic dishes survive? Surprisingly they do. One of the staples is ful medames — lava beans served with oil, garlic and lemon juice. It's a dish that goes back to the twelfth dynasty, apparently; "medames" being Coptic for "buried". (The dish was cooked initially buried in a pot in hot coal or sand). It is served with butter, tomato sauce, tahini, fried or boiled eggs and pastrami. Or, eaten plain and salted in a bread bun.

The kofte-kebab connection is well known enough and we see it here too like in the rest of the Arab world but it is kushari that we stumble across most often in our search for "real" Egyptian food — Egypt's national dish, we are told.

But which only came into being in the colonial period —with tomatoes from South America, pasta from Italy, rice, chilli and vinegar dominating the flavour. A mishmash of relatively new influences in this ancient world. But perhaps that is fitting enough.